


Hope and Fear

by FleetofShippyShips



Series: Prompted Spirk Works [4]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 00:04:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12829011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FleetofShippyShips/pseuds/FleetofShippyShips
Summary: Jim is afraid Spock will never want to be with a human, especially his captain.





	Hope and Fear

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by Anon: _Kirk is afraid Spock would never be with a human, especially not his captain. (He's wrong.)_

Jim is afraid Spock will never want to be with a human, especially not his Captain. At times, he wallows in this feeling, seeing Spock and just _hurting_ with how much he wants him. How much he wants Spock to loosen his tight grip on rationality, and _feel_ something. To feel something for him. How badly he wants more of the human side of him, buried under all that Vulcan logic. The side he sees so rarely, but is so enamoured with after such brief, brief glimpses, even if the Vulcan logic is just as appealing, in its own way.

At other times, he pushes, and _pushes_ , for some faint glimmer of hope as Spock is frustrated into displaying emotion. He revels in those moments of lost control, and _feeling_. He is drawn in by the outward displays of emotion, still mild by human standards, but deafening by Spock’s.

Sometimes those displays are warm, and almost friendly, and other times they are harsh and angry.

Either way they make Jim’s breathing stutter, and his hands itch with the urge to reach out and touch the minuscule shifts in Spock’s expression that reveal those rare emotions.

But always, _always_ , Spock speaks of the superiority of logic, and the messiness of human emotion. Intentional or not, he expresses his disdain for Jim’s kind, and dashes any hope a previous slip may have given Jim, and Jim retreats back into professionalism. Retreats for fear for pushing too far, and losing Spock completely.

Even as some barriers between them crumble, and a friendship blooms, he remains afraid.

For all that they spend time together off-duty, for all that Spock begins to tease, and joke, in his own Vulcan way, Jim fears it will disappear at any moment. That Spock will remember Jim is nothing more than a human, with messy, inconvenient emotions.

Even as he holds close to his heart every game of chess, every casual touch, every joke and raised eyebrow, and twitching of lips, he fears the day it will shatter and crumble and disappear.

Sometimes he even fears he is nothing more than an experiment. A fascinating specimen for Spock to dissect, and analyse. To poke and prod into different situations solely for the purpose of recording his reactions.

Has he not considered kissing Spock, not only to show him how he really feels, but also to _push_ that little bit more, to see if he can bring out the human part of him, and watch him feel _something_ , even if it is only revulsion?

Even though they are borne of feeling, his own reasons sound experimental at times, and everything he fears Spock may be doing to him. But he can’t stop wanting to push.

But he can never push that far, in that way.

 

* * *

 

Spock is the one to kiss him, and beneath the elation, the burning need for more, is the sinking suspicion that it’s all a game or experiment to Spock, who could never want a messy, illogical human.

But the kisses continue, along with the chess games, and jokes, until Jim is seeing more and more emotion beneath expressions that, at first glance, appear to remain perfectly Vulcan.

He must be learning to read him better, or perhaps Spock is letting him see more. He doesn’t know for sure, and he isn’t sure he wants to know.

The kisses become touches, and shared beds. Moans and gasps, and the shattering of Spock’s logic as he begs for more and less, and ‘too much’ and ‘not enough’ all at once as he trembles beneath Jim’s hands.

And it’s everything Jim ever wanted. The lingering looks, the shared jokes, and the inhuman, but soothing, coolness of Spock’s skin being the first thing he notices upon waking, and the last thing he feels as he falls asleep.

But some part of him doubts, even now. Even when he seems to have everything, and Spock seems to want him just as badly as Jim wants him. When Spock even seems to love him.

Because the criticisms of humans and human emotion continue.

There’s the twitch of an eyebrow, and the slight tilting of lips, and it’s all a joke, but Jim wonders, and fears.

 

* * *

 

Then everything changes.

 

* * *

 

They’re crash landing on a mission, and they’re stranded. Spock’s logic is failing, and Jim’s emotions are met with harsh words, and even harsher looks. Spock is no longer a Spock Jim knows, and everything that was falls away, and the fear returns. The fear of a long-lasting experiment, or some kind of joke.

Because stranded, and wounded, they clash, human and Vulcan, and nothing seems to work. They don’t work.

And Jim is so cold he can barely speak, and Spock’s fingers are sliding over his face, but he can’t even feel them. All he can think about is that surely Spock should be the one faring worse, being far more susceptible to the cold, and when he’s already given his customary extra layers to Jim. But nothing Jim says can make him stop talking about how the Captain is more important, and that _Jim_ must survive. And they just keep fighting.

And then they’re melding.

Spock’s voice is in his mind, and it’s saying, ‘ _No, Jim. No._ ”

But he doesn’t know what that means, and it’s so cold, and he’s just so tired, and sleeping seems like such a better idea than fighting again about their next step, and who should have the extra clothing.

Because they used to work so well together, fit together so seamlessly, and now suddenly they’re strangers.

It’s just easier to sleep it all away.

 

* * *

 

When he wakes, Bones is swearing, and threatening, and it’s so normal Jim smiles before he remembers. But then he remembers, and first he panics, and asks too many questions. But Bones mutters about stupid Vulcans, and _Spock is okay_. And then all he can think about is how he and Spock became complete strangers in the course of one mission, and Spock has probably put in a transfer request while he was recovering.

For all his attempts to fix their situation, and all his attempts to hide it, Jim had been so afraid. Dying alone on that planet would have been regrettable, but Spock dying with him? Unacceptable.

His messy human feelings have gotten in the way, and now Spock will be reminded of all the ways he hates humans. All the ways humans and Vulcans just don’t work. Like they hadn’t worked down on that planet.

Being trapped in the med-bay will only leave him with his thoughts the moment Bones steps away, and he has nothing to occupy himself with, so Jim plays the oh-so-familiar game of getting released early, until he’s walking out, and his expression crumbles. He doesn’t want to return to his room. All that will be waiting there will be a transfer request. If Spock isn’t gone already.

Or even if he wants to stay, then it will be over between them, if it had ever been real in the first place.

Down on that planet, Jim had proven just how incompatible he and Spock are, as his messy human emotions caused nothing but friction and fights, as Spock’s logic tried to save them, and Jim got in the way.

Who had he even become? Letting his feelings for Spock get in the way and endanger them? He hadn’t thought clearly, and it had nearly gotten them killed.

Words like ‘emotionally compromised’ flash in mind, as he enters his quarters, and moves straight for his bed, just wanting to try and sleep it all away again, as his head starts to pound, and his body ache from what it went through.

Only, Spock is there, sitting up at the sound of the door, and blinking sleepily.

Some tension in Jim just melts away, faced with the familiar sight of Spock when he’s sleepy. Too out of it to pull all that logic together and form his Vulcan mask of emotionlessness. But awake enough to still be so _Spock_.

Familiar enough that all Jim wants to do is crawl into his arms, and press his sore head to the soothing cool skin of Spock’s neck, and pretend everything is still okay. Like they didn’t ruin everything down on that planet. Like Spock hadn’t finally lost patience with him, trying to keep them both alive.

“I did not anticipate you brokering your release for another three hours,” Spock says, holding out a hand, and pulling the covers back. “I was intending to be there.”

Jim stares at his hand, and then his face, watching as his expression focuses, and tightens, and then fades into the familiar nothingness that will only be broken but the faintest of twitches to give away emotions. Twitches that Jim has spent months learning, and suddenly wishes he hadn’t.

“You need rest, Jim,” Spock says, his voice still soft and low, no longer with sleep, but calculation. Treating Jim like a wounded animal. “Come to bed.”

It’s all Jim wants, but to go back to that peace, only to find themselves at odds again like they had on that planet…

In his indecision, Spock rises from the bed and sighs. An open, frank expression of tiredness that throws Jim off balance at once. After what they went through, he expects more of the Vulcan. For the situation to be explained logically, until the only possible solution is the ending of their relationship.

“Jim, you foolish, foolish man,” Spock says, stepping close, and enclosing Jim in a gentle embrace.

Even confused as he is, Jim melts into him. Spock’s neck is cool and soothing against his forehead, and the pounding of his headache. He relaxes, and breathes in the soothing, familiar smell of him.

“You mistook my anger as being caused by your humanity,” Spock says, murmuring into his ear, and holding him close. “It was caused by fear. Fear I was unable to control. I was… compromised. You almost died.”

Jim says nothing, only brings his arms up to return the embrace, and hopes, and _hopes_.

“You are not an experiment to me,” Spock continues, sliding one cool hand into the hair at the base of Jim’s skull, and pressing lightly. Jim relaxes further, letting his head rest fully on Spock’s shoulder. “You are… a great unknown that I will never understand, but a certainty all at once.”

“That sounds infuriatingly illogical, Spock,” Jim mumbles, closing his eyes.

“Indeed,” Spock says, with that pitch in his voice that indicates amusement. “But your illogical, contradictory human nature is part of why I love you, Jim. I should have said so, but I thought you knew. You are so… you are more in touch with...”

Jim smiles into Spock’s shoulder, as the last tension in him melts away when he hears those words. He feels incredibly stupid, but he’s too tired, and still too sore, to dwell on that now.

“Love is difficult for us all, Spock,” he says. “What did you see in the meld?” All Jim remembers is the almost sad ‘ _No, Jim. No’_ in his mind.

“Everything,” Spock admits. “I had not realised you were so… insecure. That you doubted us. That you were so afraid I would end our relationship. I have always held back from gleaning anything more than a cursory sense of emotion from your skin. I never felt those things from you. Not in any way that I understood, at least.”

Jim manages to extricate himself, so he can look at Spock, and try to gauge what little there is to gauge from his expression.

“We never did talk about any of this. We just sort of… happened,” he says slowly, wondering if he might actually kill Bones when he tells him about this spectacular misunderstanding. If anyone could die from laughing at Jim’s stupidity, it would be Bones.

“Can you be so happy with someone so alien to you?” Spock asks. “Someone that understands so little, when it comes to your human needs and emotions?”

“I thought you saw everything in the meld,” Jim returns.

“I find myself wanting… wanting to hear you say it,” Spock confesses, and his brows twitch in an indication of uncertainty. Or possibly in frustration at his own illogical desire.

Jim sighs, and turns to the bed. “Why were you sleeping in my quarters?” he asks, groaning softly as he slides into the bed, and looks up at him. “That seems oddly sentimental, for a Vulcan.”

Spock moves closer, and Jim pulls the covers back, and holds out his hand.

“I found it… comforting,” Spock says, taking Jim’s hand without saying anything about how illogical it is to offer aid climbing into a bed, when it is so unnecessary.

“How illogical,” Jim says softly, smiling as he settles on his side, and Spock presses up against his back, soothing and familiar.

Spock’s fingers trace the contours of Jim’s face, but never settle. Jim sighs, the coolness of Spock’s skin so soothing, as his head continues to ache and pound.

Even if Spock has already seen it in the meld, saying it out loud is harder than he expects. He feels even more foolish for that than his former insecurities.

“Being with you is everything to me, Spock,” he whispers.

Spock’s lips brush against the back of his neck, and Jim closes his eyes and relaxes. “Your life holds more value to me than any other in this universe, Jim,” Spock says softly. “Even if your human emotions are, at times, infuriating, and illogical. Even if, at times, you seem so fragile, and so easily taken from me.”

Jim smiles, and takes Spock’s hand, guiding his fingertips over his face. “Show me?”

“You should rest,” Spock says, although he doesn’t move his hand away.

“I passed out once already in a meld, so maybe—”

Their minds are connected before he finishes the thought, and he can _feel_ Spock’s amusement.

And then, like a flower unfurling and radiating heat, he feels Spock’s love, filling him with a soothing warmth, and chasing away some of his pain.

And it’s _everything_.

**Author's Note:**

> _And then they're probably going to spend some time later discussing how to deal with that kind of situation again so their relationship doesn't get in the way of what needs to be done._
> 
> So, if you don't like this fic, please, tell anyone but me. Those kinds of comments serve no purpose, and only make me want to never try writing this ship again. 
> 
> So please, if you liked it, I'd love to hear it, but if you didn't, just close the tab and go find something you do enjoy.
> 
> I'll admit, present tense is really _not_ my usual writing style, so I apologise if it's not up to snuff. But that's just how it wanted to be written, and I tried my best.


End file.
